When it counts
by Dr.WhoisCanada
Summary: America has a lot of work, but that doesn't mean he can't spare his time when it really matters. A short oneshot on the riots that hit London not too long ago.


I sighed as I pushed my glasses up further on my nose. Paperwork. My entire day had been paperwork… scratch that. My entire week had been paperwork. To make things worse Arthur had finally been able to come over, and who wouldn't want to spend the night with their amazing British boyfriend? Paperwork wouldn't.

"Al?"

The very subject of my thoughts prodded the door open gently, leaning his slender figure against the frame. I felt guilty when I noticed that he was in his pajamas already. He probably headed to bed without me after giving up on convincing me to take a break hours ago.

"My stomach hurts." He said feebly, his fingers clutching the edge of the door tightly as he began to sway.

I was over there in an instant. Something was wrong. Arthur never complained. ever.

I looped one arm around his waist to hold him upright and felt his forehead with my other hand, furrowing my brow at how hot it was. He whimpered and clutched one hand to my chest, pushing his forehead into my shoulder. I was now holding him up entirely.

"Hey baby it's okay. It's going to be okay." I soothed him gently and carefully lifted him into a bridal carry. "Do you want to go downstairs for a while? We can see if you feel better in a couple of hours."

It was a weak offer, but I knew the kind of pain that would make somebody as strong as Arthur _tremble_ wasn't caused by any curable illness. This sort of thing had to be from turmoil in his country.

He nodded into my chest and gasped in pain, curling closer to me while he gripped the front of my dress shirt. I kissed the top of his head lovingly and carried him gently down the stairs, whispering soothing things as he slowly began to relax more.

When we reached the couch I began to sit him down tenderly, but found myself halted from standing back up by a firm grip on the front of my shirt. He had immediately curled into a ball on his side and I now had to gently lift his chin from where it was buried in his chest so he would look at me.

"Arthur, sweetheart, do you want me to go make you some tea?" I questioned vibrant green orbs.

He blinked slowly and nodded, a distant look in his eyes as I saw his jaw clench to hold back a cry, leaving a heartbreaking whimper to leak from his lips.

"I can't go make your tea until you let go of my shirt, baby."

He looked at his hand, as if wondering how it got there, or if it even belonged to him for that matter. I placed my hand on top of his and gently pulled it from my shirt as his grip loosened. Once free I made my way quickly to the kitchen, pulling my phone from my pocket to frantically check the news as I put some water in the microwave to heat up.

Just as I was putting a tea bag in the water my cell lit up with a news alert. The text on my phone read;

"_riots hit London, panic in the streets as businesses are robbed and buildings are destroyed" _

It came with a few photos that I was not prepared to see. After promptly slamming my phone down I grabbed England's tea and strode to the couch.

He was shaking violently and I saw tears escaping beneath clenched eyelids. I set the tea on the coffee table as my gut twisted and pulled him into my lap. I felt as if I was holding something fragile while he pawed at my chest, unable to get a grip through his tremors. I shushed him gently and brushed his hair from his face. I could tell he was panicking.

"Artie, everything is going to be alright." He curled up so that I was cradling him and continued to shake and cry.

I started humming "God Save the Queen" and gently stroking his hair. He began to relax, letting me just hold him. His grip on my shirt never loosened, though, and he was still in pain.

"You can cry if you want to." I murmured; "It's OK to cry sometimes Iggy."

With that he began to sob. I held him as he choked and rocked him back and forth like a baby. Eventually he fell asleep in my embrace. I smiled down at his calm face and began to carry him upstairs.

"Al?"

He was looking up at me with half-lidded bloodshot eyes. I smiled again and hummed in response.

"I'm sorry." He choked out looking at his hands as they rested on his- much calmer- stomach.

"For what?" I asked as I walked into our bedroom.

He sniffed and leaned his exhausted head on my chest; "You were working." He told my shirt.

I shook my head as I laid him down gently. He grabbed my shirt weakly and looked up at me pleadingly. I knew what he wanted, and obliged, laying down and pulling the covers over both of us.

"Arthur, sweetheart," I said, pulling him close; "You are always more important to me than paperwork."


End file.
